


A Key in a Rusty Lock

by Rosage



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Other, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:53:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: Asra finds Julian in the dungeon laboratory, trapped in memories.
Relationships: Asra/Julian Devorak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	A Key in a Rusty Lock

Asra finds Ilya in his old office, sitting on the cot with his limbs tucked up at awkward angles. Mussed hair conceals his face. He shivers too much for the cool air, the only sign he isn’t comatose.

The sign outside the dungeon had Asra rolling his eyes, a remark about Ilya’s dramatics poised on his tongue. He bites it back as he steps out of the sulfurous reek and into the musty cell.

“Ilya?”

Ilya jerks up his neck. His glazed eyes stir up memories like dust. Once, the red sclera would have turned Carrow’s eyes just as vacant, their light gone until Asra took part of him away.

That isn’t all. When Muriel escaped the coliseum, he often curled up on the floor, his hair tangled in a snarled nest down his back. Days passed before he let Asra pick out leaves and burrs, progress Asra ruined by attempting a haircut. One look at his knife drained the blood from Muriel’s face.

If Ilya wasn’t bloodless before, he is now.

“Ilya.” Asra holds up his empty palms, his movements slow and measured. “Ilya, it’s just me.”

“Asra?” His croak carries the disbelief of their three-year reunion, as if they didn’t dine with Nadia the evening before. That was the last time anyone saw him, until hand-wringing began accompanying Portia’s quips. Even with recognition, he flinches at Asra’s approach, and Asra stops before he can box him in further.

“It’s just me,” Asra repeats. “We’re safe.”

“No, no, that can’t be.”

Asra withholds a sigh. As long as they’re here, Ilya will never believe him. “It’s time to leave. You’re not locked up anymore.”

Ilya’s gaze drifts over Asra’s shoulder, toward the open door and the torture chamber beyond. Maybe this cell _is_ safe to him, in comparison.

Asra feels around the wall with his magic. A pact mark is inscribed next to a scrawled, scraggly raven, making him go cold. His fingers ghost past that, over ichor-stained stone, until it pulses with faded energy. Opening the portal requires patience, like jiggling a key in a rusty lock.

“What, what are you doing?” Ilya asks. It’s been a while since magic made him this jumpy.

“Taking us somewhere safe. Can I move you?”

“You—yes.”

“One of us needs to hold onto the other, okay?”

Ilya clutches the bottom of Asra’s shirt. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

Ilya’s grip relaxes the slightest bit. It becomes a clamp when Asra activates the portal, catapulting them forward as if over a waterfall.

They land in the gardens, under an arch. Ilya winces away from the light and slumps against the stone. Carefully, Asra pries Ilya’s hand off him and holds it.

“I’m going to find us somewhere private. Come with me?” Asra asks.

Color rushes back to Ilya’s cheeks. “Yes, I, yes.”

He guides Ilya past a tangle of bushes and through a small door, into a secret passage Portia showed him. It takes them to the guest wing. He gambles that a room is empty and finds an unmade bed, its linens and pillows piled in the corner. He casts aside all but the pillows, which he drops onto the mattress. Ilya stands against the closed door, watching with rare silence, though his lips move.

Asra plops onto a purple cushion and pats the red one beside him. After a moment, Ilya sits. The bedside table holds an empty decanter; with a few murmured words, Asra fills it with water and directs Ilya to drink. Without a proper cup, it dribbles down his chin. He wipes it with a sweat-soaked sleeve.

“Do you know where we are?” Asra asks. Ilya swivels his head.

“The palace? Right, a guest room. One with the lacy drapes, overlooking the gardens. I, uh, don’t understand how we got here.”

“I brought us here. You must be hungry. I’ll hit up the kitchens and tell Portia you’re okay,” Asra says. As he rises, Ilya grasps his sleeve.

“Wait, she can’t see me like this.”

“She doesn’t have to—”

“Please, wait.” His breathing quickens. Asra sits back down, closer this time, and cups Ilya’s face.

“I’m right here. Breathe, Ilya.” He demonstrates a slow breath before counting out loud. Ilya manages stuttering gasps. Slowly, they steady, until they match the pace of Asra’s thumbs rubbing his cheeks. His face heats as he releases Asra’s sleeve.

“Er, sorry,” he says. Asra drops his hands.

“What happened? Nobody knew where you were.”

Ilya crosses his arms and rocks back. “It was only supposed to be a brief trip, to collect my things. I should have known I’d—I’d get, ah, confused.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I would have gone with you.”

“I, I knew you would think less of me.”

“You knew, did you? Even after I’ve advised you to ask for help?”

Ilya winces. Asra holds his tongue while Ilya drums his fingers on a tasseled pillow.  
  
“Did you, I mean,” Ilya says. He draws in another breath. “How much did you see?”

Rusty cages and tables with leather straps. The carcasses of red beetles, crunching underfoot. An old, oily energy. None of it told him as much as the look in Ilya’s eyes.

“I was just looking for you. But enough,” Asra says.

Ilya’s gaze darts away and back, as if to confirm Asra didn’t already disappear into another portal. _I knew you would think less of me_.

Oh. Asra picks up the decanter and sets it down without drinking.

“We’ve discussed the problems I had with you before,” Asra says, earning a grimace. “This doesn’t change anything now. All of us were made to do things we regret.” His hand hovers over his heart.

“I guess I forgot, when I was down there alone. I kept apologizing to—to ghosts. To no one.” Ilya waves a hand in the empty air before cursing. “And I didn’t get my things!”

“I’ll grab them. It’s my fault you left in a rush.”

“No, that’s not—they’re my things.”

Asra knows better than to argue, even if Ilya could lose himself again. Even if Asra would find him. “Suit yourself.”

Ilya stares as if noticing him for the first time. “You looked for me?”

“You didn’t show up at the library. And we got through whole meals without you dancing on the table. I…” He touches his neck. “Portia was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry her. Or, ah, show you up.” Ilya bites his lip. “Would you mind, the next time I go, er.”

“Would you like me to join you?”

“If, if that’s all right.” Ilya swallows before cracking his usual grin. “We’d be a couple of dungeoneers, searching for treasure.”

Asra can’t keep his lips from twitching. “Is that what you stashed down there?”

“You never know. Pirates taught me all sorts of ways to hide things.”

His arched brow means it’s all right for Asra to leave, just long enough to find him a meal.


End file.
